Atonement
by ASiriusAuthor
Summary: Gibbs' inter-agency status is a fluid thing indeed. Whether he is seen as the devil's spawn, a savior, or an antihero, there are enough who would prefer him out of the way. So when an NCIS/CIA operation goes sour, the NCIS team must go up against conventions and the powers that be to save their own.


Hey, all. One little tip-of-an-iceberg chapter while I figure out what the heck is going on with my life. Anyhow. This chapter is very... cliffhanger-ish, and I have no idea when the next chapter for it will be out. I just have a few chapters of a different story running, and I want something to tide you over with.

No idea where this thing came from, or even if it is in the same universe as the NCIS we know and love. I guess that it's just a trauma from watching the finale of S.10. Please no spoilers, but...yeah. I had a creepy idea of a substitution for some other episode, (or some jazz [read: crap] like that) involving very illegal things, like CIA involvement on very dark levels.

Dark. Not... _excessively_ gory- yet. It's still T for a reason.

* * *

"Tony!"

Wasn't that how all days started? Whether intentional, or not, he would always hear his name shouted in exasperation or reprimand. Equal amounts of both, admittedly.

He gave a slight smirk at his coworkers as he walked down the stairs from MTAC to the bullpen. "Finally, McGee! We were wondering when you were going to get here."

McGee's brow was furrowed in suspicion. "Tony- you've been on my computer, haven't you?"

Tony knew how to keep his cool and lie out of his teeth pretty well, so he answered with a surefire, "No... why do you ask?"

McGee's lips pursed in that way they always did upon skepticism of their owner. "Tony, this isn't mine." He turned the monitor so that Tony could see it. "I don't stick Playboy covers as my background."

Tony must have given a subconscious smile, because McGee interrupted his (*ahem* inappropriate) thoughts, "I knew it. Why do I even trust you down here when I'm not in the room?"

"Well, McGee." Ziva nodded. "You were, admittedly, _very_ late. Tony holds it within his right to exact retribution in Gibbs' absence."

Timothy checked his watch. "By nine minutes, big deal."

Tony tipped his head, and gave his trademark smile. "Well, I don't know, McGee. Imagine if the Boss had a case, and you weren't even here. He'd have your head on a silver platter. He's like that, you know." Tony chuckled. "I remember there was one time that I was late to a case. Old fox bit my head off about it. Must be the Marine training." He suddenly felt on edge, and sensed steely blue eyes boring into his soul. "Not that there's anything wrong with a Marine's time-management, Boss."

Ziva spoke up. "Tony- Gibbs is still not here." she huffed in frustration. "He has not been here for the past few days. You have nothing to worry about."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," came a voice from above.

"Director Vance!" Tony turned to look upwards at the NCIS head-honcho.

"Dead Gunnery Sergeant found in Georgetown."

"Uhh... sir?" McGee stood up. "Gibbs... Gibbs isn't here yet."

The Director's gaze turned to the younger agent, and Tony could practically see McGee shrink back. "Not... not that that's ever stopped us in the past." McGee coughed intentionally, and turned to gather his gun, badge, and coat.

"Agent Gibbs won't be rejoining you for awhile still."

"Anything you can clue us in on, Director?" Tony spoke up the balcony.

"Need to know, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony blinked out of his thoughts, and nodded. "Assignment. Right. Come on, kids. Let's go." He paused a moment, and smacked the back of his own head. It seemed like, since Gibbs wasn't around, that the deserved head slap still needed to be administered.

"Driver," Ziva yowled.

"Shotgun!" McGee grinned as the elevator doors closed as he realized that Tony would be stuck in the back.

...

It felt so incredibly strange, not having Gibbs there at the scene.

They took photographs, they bagged and tagged, they did everything that they needed to... but it just seemed so... different.

Tony saw everything in a blur. Crime scene. Dead body. Gunnery Sergeant Bryan Dakota. Bag and Tag. Bag and Tag. Photographs. Lots of photographs.

Tony had dialed Gibbs while on-scene. Twice. It went to voicemail both times. Not that Gibbs had ever figured out Voicemail, anyways, but it still felt good to be following up.

"Anthony?" Tony snapped out of his daze, and looked down at Dr. Mallard and Jimmy Palmer hunched over the body.

"Oh- yeah. Sorry, Ducky. Little distracted. What did you say?"

Ducky nodded, seemingly frustrated. "As I said before, Anthony. Sergeant Dakota has been dead... for at least several days, by the decomposition that has already set in... and the maggots. Cause of death... Well, I will obviously have to get him back to Autopsy, but I will hazard a guess that these... puncture wounds, and their causes will be involved." Ducky pointed to the series of marks up and down the corpse.

Jimmy turned the gunny's right arm over, to reveal the black veins and red marks in crook of the corpse's arm. "I don't know if this will help rule out suicide, or not, but- look, Dr. Mallard. Seems to be some sort of injection."

Ziva promptly photographed the darkened wiry design on Dakota's arm. "Perhaps."

Ducky and Palmer loaded the body onto the gurney. "By the way, have any of you seen Jethro recently? He hasn't visited Autopsy- I assumed that he was busy."

Ziva spoke up before Tony could stop her. "We have not heard from Gibbs. He is evidently on an assignment, but Director Vance is being as silent as an oyster."

"Clam." Tony's brow was furrowed as he corrected her. "Clam, Ziva..."

"American idioms." Ziva huffed exasperatedly as she walked back through the crime scene.

Tony looked back at Ducky. "Have you called him? I'd like to know if he's been around, at least."

"Yes, Anthony, I did. He never returned the call. Come to think of it," The Medical Examiner's voice lowered. "I haven't heard from him at all since... hmm... Likely since this poor petty officer expired..." Ducky visibly paused, and Tony could see that he was mentally shaking himself like a dog. "However, I am quite sure it has no correlation whatsoever."

Tony suddenly felt on edge. He knew that Ducky wasn't insinuating anything... but it felt weird, almost like a coincidence. "Hm. Well, I'm sure he'll show soon, Ducky. He always does."

...

Oh... his head. His head _hurt_. He had been walking... and he had been attacked by some sort of gang... and someone had clubbed him over the head with something. It wasn't metal- that would have definitely resulted in a death or serious injury. By the shards and splinters that drew blood from his scalp, it was probably wood. And did he mention that it hurt- because it did.

Contrary to popular belief, he wasn't Superman, or GI Joe, or Captain America, or whatever the kids these days thought was the coolest fighter. He was a Marine, and even Marines fall sometimes.

Gibbs gave a low groan and attempted to shift to alleviate his sore back.

He was blindfolded and strapped to a table. Correction: those weren't straps, they were chains and _very_ sharp wires. So... Blindfolded, gagged, and chained to a metal table. This was going swimmingly.

Gibbs didn't know quite what was going on. He knew that he was supposed to be on a mission. Some sort of joint operation that Leon Vance was gung-ho about, because it would allegedly alleviate relations with several agencies. The key phrase there was _supposed to be_. Just by the hostile nature of the locale, he was quite sure that he was not quite on the mission anymore.

He grunted as he realized that there was some sort of IV line in the crook of his arm. Likely drugs- explained his disorientation. Knowing that, the likelihood that he had been captured during the mission jumped to the top of the list of things that might have happened.

"Good. You're awake." The voice sounded hollow, as if it had come from down a tunnel, and it heavily solidified his theory.

Gibbs grunted through the gag.

"Apologies," the voice said. "We couldn't have you screaming for help, now could we?"

Gibbs gave an unhappy growl as a surge of... something coursed from the IV line to his veins, and his body involuntarily relaxed against the table. His mind screamed at him, **_NO_**! **_BAD, BAD_** _, Bad, bad, bad, bad...bad...not- not good... very, very not good..._ before the drug hit him, and slowed his thoughts.

The owner of the voice changed positions, but no matter where he stood, he sounded far away to Gibbs. "You'll be pleased to know it took seven of us to take you down... But what a prize your badge will make."

The blindfold was yanked off so quickly that it stung. Gibbs blinked to adjust his eyes, but he still couldn't see anything, because the room was so dark.

With a _click_ , that all changed. A disc of pure white from above assaulted his eyes. The titanium blue eyes were nice for being perceived as a stud- not for dealing with bright light, unfortunately. So, in response, they watered and stung.

"Arrgh." Gibbs let out a muffled growl through the cloth gag.

As soon as he could actually see, he looked around at his situation. Completely restrained on the table... concrete walls... steel door. A genuine bunker. Gibbs began to wonder how on earth he ended up in a bunker with... whomever this was.

The man that the voice belonged to briefly came into his field of vision. He quickly realized that this would be useless. Not only was his brain fuzzy from whatever was being injected into him, but his vision was terribly blurred and tunneled.

This just kept getting better.

"So, tell me... everything you know."

Gibbs gave a wry smile. "Not... Everything, I'm sure. I know quite a bit."

Gibbs felt a sharp jab in the right side with... something. He recoiled from it instinctively as he felt a droplet of blood bead at the site. He heard a tiny _snap_. Not like bone... likely nothing that was even a part of his body. However, when he shifted back, he felt the same spearing pain. He quickly realized that whatever the sharp object was... was still inside his body. It had broken off inside the wound.

"That's what will happen when you don't answer, you give me a smart answer, or if you lie to me."

"I don't understand..."

"First question. Did or did not Ziva David shoot her brother, Mossad agent Ari Haswari?"

Against his better judgment, Gibbs remained (he hoped) stoically silent. Another object- he was sure it was some sort of needle- plunged into his left side. Another snap. This time, the shard made it painful to breathe. Figuring a way out of here was going to be... challenging, to say the least.

The man waited over five minutes before giving the next question, which Gibbs automatically presumed was his tormentor giving a chance for him to squirm and tear up his own insides.

...

After the fifth question, Gibbs was beginning to question his own sanity. He felt like a drugged, thoroughly abused pincushion.

"I- wait!" Gibbs shouted as the sixth question was left unanswered. "I have one question for you, please, if..." One of the shard dug further into his flesh, and he gasped. "If I'm going to die, I'd like to know... over what? Why... why are you doing this?"

The man laughed. "You know, Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, you're a member of a rare breed. Especially now. The type that doesn't break easily... I've always prided myself on being able to get what I want when I want it. Information- whatever it is. I take what I want. My goal... is to break you. I want you to break; or to die. I'll take both. If you break, then I take your pride and your badge as my trophies. If you die, then I take your life as my trophy. You wouldn't believe how many people, American or otherwise, want nothing more than you six feet under. I can get a handsome price for your head on a platter."

"Why keep me alive, then?"

"Because I'm going to enjoy this opportunity to break you far, far too much to justify merely killing you."

To prove his point, the man jammed the next needle through Gibbs's collarbone. A shriek instinctively escaped Gibbs's throat.

"Well," his tormentor crowed happily. "I've elicited a sound. We're making progress."

Gibbs mentally resolved to remain silent after that.

* * *

So... yeah. Something my deranged mind thought up on the spur of the moment, because for some strange, creepy reason I enjoy harassing/tormenting the Elsewhere Boys (Mark Harmon and Bruce Greenwood). I know that it's a pretty awful piece (for fairly obvious reasons), but whatever.

Please review anyways.

Please excuse any errors.

All rights to respective owners.


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